


absent touch

by crimsonsea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Pining, Romance, Slow Burn, split soul (literally)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-09-28 09:31:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20423735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonsea/pseuds/crimsonsea
Summary: Tom Riddle’s attempt at making one of his horcruxes backfires: a piece of his soul becomes somewhat of a ghost. His invisible soul is sentenced to watch his physical half become a monster over the years. He is also trapped in his affections for a witch in the process.(The diary does not become a horcrux.)





	1. prologue

_I didn’t fucking expect _this_._

_Here I stand, observing my own moving body without having to leave anyone’s way. I don’t need to move a bloody muscle at all, actually. This disdainful part of myself is locked. Stagnant. Stationary. _

_Maybe lifeless. _

_(Such irony to be seeking an infinite life when my own is truly split in _half_.)_

* * *

He painstakingly took in the appearance of fatigue, pallor and _ugliness_ that slowly ate away at his other half. Hepzibah was gone at the hands that held a brilliant cup, then a nameless muggle was exchanged for a locket holding a meager part of whatever humanity left within him. One body after another, murder after murder. The continuous stream of green light was forever etched into his eyes whenever he closed them.

He saw instability take over.

He watched himself grow insane.

* * *

A young woman held the prophecy in her arms as she succumbed to the inevitable spell. The prophecy - a _child_ \- would not stand even the smallest chance. 

Except, he did. 

Tom stood there when he saw himself die once. 

(To his disappointment, however, he continued to stand.)

* * *

_The boy rejected Slytherin only to become a_ Gryffindor. _A poor choice._

For once, he could agree with the monster that lurked in the shadows of the school he dearly missed.

He also loathed Hogwarts for allowing the monster in the making.

Once Potter destroyed him near the Mirror of Erised, Tom knew it wasn’t the end. Several safekeepings of tiny fragments of his soul were dispersed throughout wherever magic only permitted. One would have understood the perseverance needed in order to kill the beast.

Strangely, he could see himself in the enchanted looking glass - the only part of him that changed after half a century was the look in his eyes. What replaced pride and arrogance were melancholy and exhaustion.

* * *

_"It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts.“_

* * *

Tom Riddle saw himself dissolve into bits and pieces.

To his surprise, he also saw a silhouette of a girl who picked up those shards and made him whole again.


	2. just a bit more.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn’t think he would ever have to be aware of her.

“Bloody hell, look at her!” 

Weasley’s shrill voice brought Potter’s attention over to a young girl’s still, stony body, her arm outstretched and eyes open wide. Tom - to be specific, his “ghost” - watched from afar behind Hogwarts’ hospital windows (he was thankful to be free to fly anywhere he wished to go).

It turned out his fool of an other half assumed his diary to be one of his safekeepings of parts of his damaged soul, yet when Voldemort found absolutely nothing in this less-than-ordinary book, he opened the Chamber himself. Surprisingly, there were no Muggleborn fatalities, and no fatalities meant no success. 

Wizarding Britain was wrong to think that Voldemort’s body had already dissipated into ash; he was still alive and breathing - just in the shadows. 

Tom continued to watch the two Gryffindors overlook their friend. Potter let out a long sigh and whispered, “I _know_ Voldemort is still out there somewhere - “

”Will you _not_?” the redhead warned, his hushed voice bordering on nearly audible. “That name is cursed to the bone. Might as well just say _You-Know-Who_, Harry.”

Tom couldn’t blame him. He started to loathe it during his almost fifty years of being an audience to his own fall to madness. 

Potter didn’t reply; instead he gently laid his palm over the girl’s hand. His expression, a mix of sadness and drive, bore onto the her visage, stuck in a Muggle photograph.

“It’s going to be okay, Hermione,” he spoke softly, rubbing her skin with his thumb. Although her face was unable to show it, they knew she was comforted by the tender notion.

_Hermione_, thought Tom,_ from Shakespeare_. 

After ten long minutes, the boys left the wing, leaving Hermione all by her lonesome. A short breeze swept across the room, moving nothing but her hair befitting of her house’s symbol. Crossing through the glass - _he didn’t know he could do that_ \- he took looked closely at the witch named after a queen. Just from a glance he could tell she was the smartest of the trio; her dark brown eyes seemed frightened (thanks to the wretched basilisk), _but they bear knowledge and a thirst for it_, Tom thought in awe, unaware of his right hand that slowly reached for her outstretched palm.

The brush of his large fingertips against her tiny ones was barely there - only the slightest, _faintest_ sensation, like touching a ray of warm sunlight in the fine line between tree shade and an autumn sun. Tom wanted to feel a bit more - _just a _bit_ more_ \- but his fingers marginally pushed through. Like his diary almost half a century ago: another fucking _failure_. 

But this was the most human he felt in a long, long time, so then he was grateful.

* * *

In a daze, Hermione woke up, her hand clenching around thin air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welllll looks like I had time..... at 12:57 AM.

**Author's Note:**

> Will update sporadically. :)


End file.
